


The Moon Shines On

by ellacj



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, i actually hate myself for writing this, lots og angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellacj/pseuds/ellacj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darling, let me count the ways I miss you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Shines On

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 4x19 "Sympathy for the De Vil"
> 
> Yes, I do hate myself for writing this.

“What the hell is that noise?” Ursula grumbles, moving over to where the shrill sound is emanating from, a hand over one ear in irritation. It’s her mirror, the surface showing a network of cracks and emitting the screeching sound of glass on glass. She picks it up.

It silences.

The glass ripples to show a face coming into focus. “Ursula,” the person in the mirror says solemnly.

Ursula furrows her brow. “Regina? What is this?”

Regina glances away ever so briefly before returning her gaze to Ursula. “I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but…” she trails off. Her eyes flicker with something akin to sympathy and she continues. “Cruella’s dead.”

“What?” Ursula feels her throat constricting, something blocking her from speaking anything more than a whisper. _She’s not_ , a voice in the back of her mind shouts. _She can’t be_.

“She fell into the ravine at the edge of the woods.” Something about her seems off, but Ursula ignores it in the face of what she’s just been told. “I just thought you should know.” Regina’s reflection vanishes, leaving Ursula to wonder if the interaction had even happened at all, but no, there’s that weight in the pit of her stomach that tells her it was all too real. It’s the same thing she felt when her mother died.

Ursula’s next decision is an easy one. Grab her mirror and a black dress and head for the surface, swimming faster than she ever has since her transformation from tail to tentacles, and she’s not sure if the salty moisture on her face is from the ocean or her own tears. _She can’t be dead_ , she repeats over and over in her head like a chorus to a song she can’t stop singing, some sick parody of the way Ursula couldn’t stop thinking about Cruella when they first met.

The portal opens at the touch of a tentacle and she dives through headfirst, her chest tightening as she surfaces in the Storybrooke harbor right beside the Jolly Roger. She doesn’t even take time to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the ship before she poofs herself into her land form and takes off running, running, running, and she won’t stop running until she finds the happy ending she gave up in lieu of another.

She very nearly jumps off of the cliff into the ravine when she sees the body, but she stops herself. It won’t do them any good if they’re both dead. So she carefully climbs down the rocky face of the cliff until she’s standing beside Cruella’s body, broken and bloodied, and she doesn’t even try to hold in the sob that escapes her throat. “I’m sorry I left,” she manages to choke out.

“You deserve better than this.” Ursula bends down to hook her arms beneath Cruella, ignoring the burning in her muscles as she lifts her up. And then Cruella’s head rolls to the side and her eyes stare up at Ursula, glassy and empty and grey, and Ursula’s stomach churns and she thinks she’s going to be sick.

The sky is dark but the moon shines bright, reflecting across the ocean when Ursula poofs them both to the beach. She sets Cruella gently in the sand, a fresh wave of tears overtaking her when she thinks of how Cruella would have complained of the sand in her fur coat. She cups a hand over her mouth and turns away, looking out across the sea, trying her best to keep it together just for a few more minutes.

“Ursula?” a voice says behind her, a cross between surprised and angry and afraid.

Ursula sighs and turns. “Savior.”

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

Regina’s standing behind her, Ursula notices, and the queen rests a gentle hand on Emma’s arm. “Relax, I’m not here to ruin anything. I just…” she gestures to the body at her feet. “I want to bury her.”

Emma’s eyes soften and her shoulders slump into Regina’s touch. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I thought she was going to kill Henry, and I just – I didn’t know,” she finishes, voice almost inaudible.

Ursula’s entire body tenses and it would be so simple, so maddeningly _easy_ to kill her right now, leave her cold on the ground and to tell herself that Emma deserved it. But she doesn’t. She just sighs. “What’s done is done.”

“Let’s go,” Regina murmurs to Emma, taking her hand and guiding her away, and of course the Savior gets to be happy even as a killer, while Ursula loses everything time and time again. She almost remembers why she wanted to help Gold.

But no, Cruella was always the most important thing, and that hasn’t changed now, nor will it probably ever. And so she conjures herself a shovel, swears she’ll do this the right way; without magic, just a lot of sweat. Cruella deserves that from her.

She moves them both to a plot of dirt near the sand and plunges the shovel into the ground once, twice, again and again, keeps going until her arms are throbbing and her fingers are blistering and still she keeps going because every time the shovel cuts into the dirt is a time she could have said ‘I love you’; every second her muscles scream is a second she could have spent with Cruella in her arms instead of running away from the best thing she’s ever had.

It’s somewhere between ten minutes and three hours later when finally she finishes, scooping her love into her arms and gently lowering her into the grave with a gentle stroke of her fingertips through two-toned hair. “I love you, Cru,” she whispers, and it’s the first time she’s said it and she’s _too late_ , because Cruella will never hear those three words she was always fishing for, but neither of them had been brave enough to say out loud.

“I love you, and I always have.” Ursula reaches up to wipe at her eyes. “I never should have left. I should have been there to protect you and I should have said goodbye and…” she sniffs once. “I’m sorry.”

Putting the dirt back in the grave is easier than taking it out, but her entire body still burns with the effort until finally she’s patting it smooth and the sun is rising over the horizon. And just because Cruella was always a sucker for romantic gestures, Ursula shrugs her jacket off and lays it gently across the grave. “Keep it,” she says, voice cracking. “I know it’s not fur, but… it was always your favorite on me.”

Ursula wipes at her eyes one more time, turning away from the grave because even now, even when it’s already too late, she doesn’t know how to say goodbye. She creates a portal with the touch of a tentacle, letting herself fall more than jump into it as it takes her home.

“Where did you go?” her father is demanding as soon as she arrives back at his palace, weary from grief and exhaustion. “I was worried you’d run off again.”

“Cruella’s dead, Papa.” Her voice is dull and lifeless and all she wants is to go to her bed and lie down and pretend Cruella’s still there to hold in her arms. “I went to bury her.”

Poseidon sobers immediately, his arms opening to allow her to fall into his embrace. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, stroking her hair as he cradles her as though she were still just a child.

Ursula lets her eyes fall shut. “I should have said goodbye. I should have stayed.”

“You can’t worry yourself with hypotheticals, love,” Poseidon says softly. “All that matters is what you do now. How you honor her memory.”

“I think I just want to go to sleep.”

Poseidon smiles, grief filling his eyes as he squeezes her hands. “Please tell me if I can help.”

Ursula nods and turns away to go to her bedroom, curling her tentacles underneath her as she sits on her bed with her face buried in the pillow. She tries to remember what it was like to hold Cruella and smell her hair and kiss her lips, but the sensations already feel distant. All she’s left with is an empty heart and distorted memories of what could have been. It’s all she can do not to pull out her knife and chase after her love. But she has to come to terms; what she had with Cruella was never more than a romance between two women too terrified to admit they were terrified.

And it was never meant to be anything more.

 


End file.
